


Open Arms

by holymountain



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holymountain/pseuds/holymountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them could sleep. (A sequel, of sorts, to my fic Open Windows.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to candyvan for beta-ing this fic :)

Neither of them could sleep.

Malia was curled up in her bed in Mr. Tate's house. Her house, she supposed, although it had been weeks since she spent a night here. And was it really her house now, when she knew her last name didn't match up with the one on the lease?

She had piled the blankets on, but couldn't get warm. In her arms, she held tightly onto Stiles' jacket, the one he'd put around her shoulders before leaving the Hale vault.

She had thrown the jacket aside the other day when she realized she was still wearing it, but she'd given in to the fact that she was so used to sleeping with his scent around her that it was almost impossible to sleep without it, no matter how much she resented the weakness. Still, she thought as she huddled under the blankets, it was a far cry from the real thing, and she didn't know if that was good or bad.

Meanwhile, Stiles was sprawled out across his bed, not even trying to sleep. He knew the effort would be wasted. He had a hard enough time sleeping before the nogitsune; now, with the ever-present fear of waking up as an ancient, maniacally evil being, it was even harder. When Malia was there, it was easier. He could relax into her arms and feel... _safe_.

But she wasn't here now; it felt like years since he shared his bed with her. He'd left the window open, as was now his custom, but still she hadn't shown up. He couldn't blame her. Not telling her about Peter was the wrong thing to do. He could see that now, for all the good it did him.

He turned over, face against pillow as he ran through, for the thousandth time today, what he could have done differently.

Suddenly, an arm wrapped around his waist. He froze.

"Malia?"

There was a body pressed against him. It was definitely Malia, he was used to the feel of her curves against his body –- _don't think about the curves, Stiles_ \-- but she didn't say anything. _Please be real please be real please be real._ He tried again.

"Malia?" He let it hang in the air for a few seconds before continuing softly, "I'm glad you came back."

"Shut up," she growled.

"I think we should talk-"

"Shut up. This doesn't mean anything. I’m still mad at you." She squirmed against his back, slightly, the first sign that she was almost as nervous as he was. "I can't sleep, okay?” she admitted reluctantly. “I'm cold and your jacket's scent is wearing off."

Maybe he should feel bad about that, but an overabundance of empathy had never been one of Stiles’ problems, and all he really felt was relieved. Relieved that he was not the only one suffering. Relieved that she still cared about him despite everything. Stiles reached down and found her hand, grasping it tightly. She hesitated, but after a few moments, Stiles felt her relax into his touch.

“Neither can I,” he said. She didn’t respond and he angled his neck to look at her, trying not to move too much.

She was already asleep.


End file.
